


the value of adventure

by bumblebee



Category: Road to El Dorado (2000), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Crossover, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Kid!Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebee/pseuds/bumblebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the variable meanings of home and adventure. Tulio and Miguel find a new city and an orphan finds a new family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the value of adventure

**Author's Note:**

> As this is Disney/Dreamworks fic, I am taking gleeful delight in copying their methods and as such, the following apply: instant language comprehension, sketchy geography and the total lack of a name for anywhere in the Tangled 'verse. A million, bazillion thanks to my gorgeous beta (I do believe in commas, I do, I do!) who supported my little love affair with italics, corrected my occasionally inappropriate lusting after semi-colons, and generally looked after my footly bits. Any remaining errors are all ~~her~~ my fault.
> 
> This was inspired by a picture floating around Tumblr, comparing the Wanted posters from both movies, which I have now lost. I make no claim on the cross-over idea. ♥

The new city stretched before them like an adventure, Miguel thought. There were unexplored warrens of alleyways and rooftops, endless supplies of sights and sounds and _tastes_ that could keep even him occupied for _years_. Also, there was a castle.

“Here,” he said, definitively, before their ship even docked. “This is it.”

“You said that about the last _two cities_ ,” Tulio reminded him. “We didn't even stay in the last one a week.”

“Yeah, but this one's different.” Miguel was strangely still, taking in the rising tiers of cobbled streets and whitewashed houses. His usual fidgeting had stopped, and his smile was quiet and content. Tulio studied him for a moment, before looking back up at their new home.

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

“What's the verdict, boys?” Chel called from where she was tying their bags to Altivo, who looked decidedly put out at being relegated to pack mule. “We like it?”

“Of course we like it!” Tulio shouted back. His hand brushed against the small of Miguel's back just briefly (reassurance). “It's not _France_ ,” he added, which really was all it needed in its favour after the year they'd had there. Miguel had turned imperceptibly into the touch (affection, gratitude). They didn't communicate much by talking these days; lying came too easily for both of them. “Come on, let's explore!”

The first thing to really, truly grab Tulio's interest as they walked up the pier was the tempting smell of fruit-filled pastry. It perfumed the docks, strong enough to overpower the salt, seaweed and fish. He didn't need to look to know that Miguel's eyes would be wide open and pleading, that Chel was licking her lips. He didn't even bother to check if they were behind him before following his nose to a crowded wooden stall,where the vendor was having money practically shoved in his face as the pastries flew off the table-top. It was the work of seconds to steal three, although he suspected that he saw Miguel surreptitiously slipping a gold coin onto the counter. (Miguel had these strange ideas about paying for things like pies. Tulio would be frustrated, would try to explain again the point of money and _them stealing it_ but Miguel's father had been a baker before he'd died and it was hard to argue with something like that.)

Really, it was the pies that started all the trouble, looking back. Tulio should have kept a closer watch on Miguel, because despite arguments to the contrary, he was the one who _always_ got them in trouble. (“Adventure, Tulio! I get us sent on adventures!”) However, he hadn't been keeping an eye on Miguel. He'd let his partner wander off (with a promise to stay close) while he reclined on a bench in the sun, picking at the remainder of a second pie.

Chel had been working the crowd, as she did, using her considerable powers of persuasion to find interesting nuggets of information. “The king and queen still haven't found their kidnapped daughter,” she reported back within half an hour. “It's her birthday tomorrow, so some kind of celebration is being planned. Big, busy crowds, good time for pickpocketing.”

“Thinking too small, Chel,” Tulio scolded her. “And anyway, we have enough money to get settled as upstanding members of the community. Let's not jeopardise that with petty crime, shall we?”

Chel looked at him askance for a beat too long.

“He really likes it here, huh?” she asked. There wasn't much to say in reply. “Anyway, I have also found a lovely little house that we can buy. That young woman over there?” – here Chel pointed and a young woman with long black hair waved – “she’s just been married. She and her husband are moving into her family home but they still need to sell his old house. Apparently, it has two bedrooms and a roof garden. With a view of the sea.”

Tulio sat up, interested. He still wasn't entirely used to having a substantial amount of money but since El Dorado (since Chel, really), they had been remarkably more successful in their schemes. They dared to con larger, pricier marks; once you have fooled a city into deifying you, convincing a banker that you're a security expert is somehow less challenging. They could afford a proper house, now, with a view of the sea. It felt like winning; it felt like an ending. What were they reaching for, now?

“Buy it from her.”

“Don't you want to check it out, first?” Chel asked, surprised.

“I – you do that. Go see that it isn't falling apart, haggle a bit. But as long as it has the roof, and the view, buy it.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to find Miguel. He's been gone for too long – he's definitely found trouble by now.”

*.*

It was rather predictable that Tulio should find Miguel surrounded by gap-toothed children with thin, ragged clothing and dirty faces, sharing out what was no doubt another of the damned pies. He had always had a way with children, particularly the street children of any city. He smiled at them and they shone, as if he'd scrubbed them with gallons of polish.

Miguel had been orphaned when he was very small. He'd grown up scurrying through back alleys and clambering over rooftops and taking anything that he could get his hands on. He had been one of these children long before he'd been a successful conman, and somewhere inside he still was.

“Come on,” Tulio told him, eyeing the children warily. “We need to go somewhere.”

Miguel gave him a knowing look and ruffled a child's hair as they left. The little boy stared after them, fingers tentatively touching the top of his head. (Miguel had that effect on people, like sunlight.)

Tulio led at first, but before long Miguel pulled him down an alley, dusty and unused. They ducked under a fallen crossbeam and into a hidden alcove. As soon as they were out of sight, Tulio fisted his hands into the cloth over Miguel's back, buried his nose in Miguel's neck, and breathed. Miguel's hands settled warmly on his hips, and his smile was pressed tightly into Tulio's hair.

“We're home,” Miguel told him, wonder infusing his voice. Tulio wanted to plead with him – _how are you so sure?_ – but, of course, there was no answer. Miguel couldn't remember home, but he felt it in this city. Tulio had never wanted to go home, so he had Miguel instead.

“Chel is buying us a house,” he said instead. Miguel stroked his thumb slowly up and down Tulio’s hip (I know what you're not saying). “It has a view of the sea.”

“I like the sea,” Miguel replied. By all logic, he should hate the sea after their endless drifting and multiple near-death experiences in the water, but Miguel had always defied logic. Besides, they'd had just as many near-death experiences on perfectly dry land.

“Okay,” Tulio said after a moment, pushing away. “We're home. Let's go find our new house.”

Miguel studied him for a moment. He knew, of course, how much Tulio hated 'home'. There had never been any talk of heading back to Spain. (France was too close, even, and that had been a disaster all round.) Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, eventually, because he surged forward like a starburst and kissed Tulio.

“Okay,” he agreed, beaming. “Now we can go.”

*.*

Really, Tulio should have seen this happening. Within a week, their house had a thoroughfare of ragged children. They would turn up to hear Miguel tell stories, or for bowls of soup, or with scraped knees that Chel would wash out and wrap up. They hadn't retired, not really, but most of the theft they did was for fun. They would plan great heists in the nearby cities, steal from museums and palaces and temples. They would plan jobs for months, execute them perfectly, never get caught. The rush was the same, but the restlessness was gone.

One of the children who regularly passed through was a young boy called Eugene, a six-year-old with scruffy, dark hair. For some unfathomable reason, he seemed to like Tulio better. He had gravitated towards Miguel like everyone else inevitably did, but he stayed towards the back at story time, and more and more often would come and sit right next to Tulio.

“Can you read this one?” he asked, having finally screwed up enough courage to approach Miguel.

Miguel stared at the book in dismay; he'd never learned to read. “Tulio?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, okay, give it here.” Tulio caved, and reached for the book. The children cheered along with Miguel, who immediately shifted to the floor and crossed his legs while Tulio took his seat. He looked down at the expectant faces (Miguel’s the most excited by far), and winked at Eugene, who ducked his head, blushing. “Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a man named Flynn Rider.”

*.*

It didn't take more than a year for Chel to start fidgeting and snapping. She grew irritable, threw crockery at Miguel and left.

“Why are you so happy to stay here?” she screamed at him. “I thought you wanted gold! I thought you wanted adventure!”

“Why aren't you happy here?” Miguel screamed back at her. “It's perfect! It's home! Why can't you understand?”

“It's boring here and we're surrounded by walls. This is what I left in the first place. I can't stay here anymore.”

“Then leave,” Miguel told her.

“Where's Chel?” Tulio asked when he came home. Fragments of pottery crunched under his feet. He already knew she was gone.

“I'm sorry.” Miguel couldn't look at him. “It's my fault. I didn't really want her here.”

“I thought you'd forgiven her?” What he meant was _I thought you'd forgiven me for choosing her._

“I thought so too,” Miguel admitted, “but I was never sure.” Trust is a tricky thing to mend.

*.*

The children came and went, and Miguel made no effort to try and keep them or to mother them, like Tulio had worried he might. Sometimes he'd come home to find one of them crying into Miguel's shoulder, little hands clutched around his neck, and something inside him would twist sharply. But the next day they'd be gone. (Miguel knew what it was like, and he wasn't promising a home – he couldn't, not to all those children. He was just providing a foothold.)

Eugene, however, came almost every day. Sometimes he'd bring a Flynn Rider book and hold it awkwardly in front of him until Tulio offered to read it; Eugene would then smile broadly, showing off his missing front tooth. Other times, he'd beg and plead to be allowed to brush Altivo, and proudly show Tulio the best techniques he'd learnt from the palace's stable boys.

“If you want,” Miguel murmured into the bare skin of Tulio's shoulder one night, “we could ask Eugene to stay with us. We have the room, since Chel left.”

Tulio turned over to face him. “We have a home and a hundred children to look after and now you want to adopt one?” he asked incredulously. “Miguel, are we retired?”

“Oh, never.” A reassuring kiss. “We'll still be thieves and scoundrels when we're old men. But you seem to have grown attached. You won't have to worry about him, this way.”

“What about all the others, Miguel? We can't adopt them all.”

“No, and they know that. They'll be okay, as long as they have somewhere safe they can run to.” Tulio remembered calling down to a terrified, ten-year-old Miguel through the bedroom window that first night, trying not to wake his siblings. As long as they had somewhere to hide.

“I suppose this has become a habit for me,” Tulio admitted reluctantly.

“Realising I'm right?”

“Rescuing orphans. I suppose we can afford it. After France.” For all France had been a disaster, they had made rather a lot of money.

Miguel radiated happiness. Tulio shoved him playfully away.

“Okay, yes, no need to be smug.”

“'Don't get attached to these children, Miguel,' you said. 'We're not keeping them,' you said.” Miguel poked his shin with a cold toe.

“Yes, well, Altivo likes him.”

“Ah. That settles that, then.”

*.*

Tulio schooled Eugene, looked after him when he was sick, taught him how to steal. Miguel showed him how to run and hide, how to play, how to charm people. Tulio spent more time with him, because Miguel poured out of himself like sunlight and shared himself equally with all the children. They filled up his life so seamlessly that he couldn't even imagine how his real parents could have been better.

The most important thing anyone had ever said to Eugene had been a gentle comment from Miguel.

“Everything has a value,” Miguel told him, washing the blood off the side of his face without asking how he had been injured. “Time has value, people have value. It is perfectly fine to want gold,” at this he smiled fondly in the way that Eugene had learned meant he was thinking of Tulio. “But sometimes, the gold is not the most valuable thing you can find.”

“Are you talking about diamonds?” Eugene had asked, because he was a quick study, but he was studying _Tulio_.

“I'm talking about adventure. Sometimes we set out to find gold and we get adventure instead.”

“You can't sell adventure, though,” Eugene argued.

“No,” Miguel agreed. “But you can't buy it either.”

Eugene had no idea what he meant.

*.*

Tulio opened the door and stopped dead, causing Miguel to slam into his back.

“Hello, Eugene,” he called over Tulio's shoulder, waving happily. “Is it really a good idea for you to be here?”

“Hi,” Eugene said sheepishly. “Um. I've been pardoned?”

“Really? Tulio, inside,” Miguel said firmly, pushing his way in and closing the door behind him.

“Eugene Fitzherbert,” Tulio said sternly, “did you even see those Wanted posters?”

“I _know_ , they kept getting the nose wrong!” Eugene complained. “Not really my fault though, I think we can all agree.”

“The boy has a point,” Miguel said sweetly, busily unpacking groceries. His hair was whitening notably, but he was still constantly in motion.

“Why, exactly, is there a frying pan tied to your belt?” Tulio asked instead, smirking and waving his cane in Eugene's direction.

“It's a long story,” he sighed. “There's someone I'd like for you to meet, though. And. Um.”

“Oh dear,” Miguel said, eyeing him suspiciously. “You've fallen in love, haven't you?”

“I guess,” Eugene admitted cautiously, testing the uncertain ground. However, having raised him, Tulio could see his happiness and his pride shining through the cracks.

“Well,” Tulio smiled, “I suppose you'd better tell us the whole story. But let's start with whose great idea it was to steal the Princess's crown? And please tell me you weren't actually working with the Stabbington brothers?”

*.*

“I know what you meant,” Eugene admitted quietly, after Tulio had gone to bed. “About adventure.”

“Do you?” Miguel asked.

“I tried to steal a crown, and instead I found her. She's my adventure.”

“And look,” Miguel pointed out, “now you've won a crown!”

“I guess crime does pay,” Eugene agreed.

*.*

“It'll be fine,” Rapunzel assured him, smoothing down his shirt front.

“You've told them about Tulio and Miguel?” he asked for the millionth time, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “They're my only family; what if they hate each other?”

“I've told them about Tulio and Miguel, Eugene. We've been over this – they're not going to hate your family.”

“But they know that they were – are, even – that they are conmen and thieves?”

“Eugene. This is going to be fine.”

“You don't know my dads. They have this habit of getting into trouble.”

“Well, it will be lovely to see where you got it from,” she told him. “Come on.”

“I told them to leave the silverware alone,” Eugene promised, being dragged behind Rapunzel by her fierce grip on his hand. He stared at the back of her head, at the neck revealed by the short, choppy cut of her dark hair. She was worth this. He steeled himself for disaster and let her lead him into the ballroom (battlefield).

“That can't be true!” the king was saying, while the queen pressed her hand to her lips to stifle her laughter. They were standing close, as they always did, one of her hands resting lightly on his arm.

“No, really,” Miguel was saying. He and Tulio were standing just as close, and he had a hand on Tulio's shoulder for support as he gestured some improbable action. “I swear it on my life! Then, the king said, 'Please, forgive me for offending you; I had no idea that butter was such a controversial issue in your country'!”

“Oh dear,” Eugene breathed, “they're talking about France again.”

But Rapunzel looked at their parents, who were smiling broadly at each other, and squeezed his hand because she'd felt the tension slowly bleed out of him and she could tell that what he really meant was, _Oh look, we're home_.


End file.
